


The First Dates

by FrozenSnares



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cute, Dinner Party, F/M, First Date, Fluff, Ice Cream, Kissing, in which Rickon has tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 13:16:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4667969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenSnares/pseuds/FrozenSnares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Rickon and Shireen meet in the staff lounge of their common work place, they slowly get to know each other and eventually decide to move their relationship away from prying eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Dates

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheGreatHobbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatHobbit/gifts).



> Special thanks to HobbitTheGreat for staying up past midnight with me and talking Rickeen headcanons several weeks ago. Sorry it took so long for me to finish this!

“Wait, you’re seriously going on a date?”

Rickon bites his tongue and tries not to be annoyed. He never should have told his family about getting lunch with the girl from their writing department. Over the past few weeks, he and Shireen had discovered a great common ground that started when she caught him reading H.P. Lovecraft on their lunch break. Ever since, they’d been talking together and finding out that they were quite similar despite their vastly different outward appearances. Shireen is always impeccably dressed. She wears nice skirts and dresses and blouses enough so that Rickon can’t imagine her wearing anything else. On the other hand, Rickon has a hard time finding something of his that isn’t ripped and has several tattoos conveniently hidden under his clothes.

Right now, he just wishes that his family hadn’t made plans after he asked her to lunch because, of course, they’d prodded for his reasoning behind not coming, and, of course, he hadn’t been clever enough to give them some other excuse. So here he is, having breakfast with his family while they continue to mistake his lunch with a friend as a date.

“It’s not a date,” Rickon says loudly. “We’re just friends and hanging out outside of work. Give it a rest, guys.”

He fends off comments for the rest of his morning and nearly bolts from the house when his mom tries to get him into Robb’s clothes because she doesn’t think his are appropriate for his date. Fuming, Rickon finally snaps, throwing down whatever is in his hands as he heads for the door. Getting out his phone, Rickon texts Shireen to tell her that he’ll be early, but she can take her time anyway.

He drives over to her location slowly, giving himself time to settle from his thoughts and giving her time to actually be ready. Shireen had already told him that she would be at her parents’ house this weekend. Apparently, all families are great at planning things when their children have already made plans. Rickon knows that she has a family dinner to attend tonight, and he’s already told her that he’ll bring her back after their lunch.

When he pulls up the drive to her house, he weighs the pros and cons of going up to the door and ringing the doorbell. Rickon decides to do it and leaves his car, looking up at the massive home her parents owned. It was basically a mansion, raised up by about ten steps, painted a pristine white that probably needed to be pressure-washed every week, and had a ridiculous amount of glass windows and doors. 

Right when he places a foot on the first step, he hears the front door open. He pauses and soon he sees Shireen walking down toward him. She’s in a pretty green dress, with her hair done up in loose curls. The skirt of her dress sways out around her knees as she heads down, and Rickon swears that she’s wearing honest-to-god doll shoes. Balancing out the perfection of her outfit, Rickon finds her face, knowing that she has a massive amount of scars over her left cheek. Greyscale, she calls it. They’ve never really bothered him, but he knows she’s probably put some make up on to cover it up.

“Hey,” he greets, watching her head down the steps before settling on the ground. Rickon takes a step down to be level with her. Even though she’s fairly tall and in heels, he can see straight over her head.

Shireen beams at him. No longer is her smile cautious around him, and Rickon loves seeing her face brighten when she sees him. “Hi, you,” she says sweetly, swaying on her doll shoes and moving around him. When she turns with a whip of her skirt to face the car, Rickon finds a massive grin on his face, and he only just manages to make it slightly smaller when he gets into the driver’s seat.

\--

“So your family did it, too?” she asks, sipping at her milkshake.

Rickon watches her glittery nail polish sparkle as her fingers flick around the straw to draw it into her mouth. He distracts himself with his own beverage—a root beer float, because apparently they are both children. “Yup,” he says. “My parents like to randomly have game nights and invite all my siblings over.”

“Game nights sound fun,” Shireen muses, picking at her fries. She hums slightly, plucking one into her mouth.

Laughing, Rickon says, “Trust me: you do not want to be around my family when they start playing Rummikub. Bran’s turns once took twenty minutes, so we had to put a time limit on turns. Plus, I’m pretty sure Arya and Sansa can read each other’s minds, which is absolutely unfair during charades.”

Shireen knows the entire Stark family as part of her job at Stark Enterprises. She’s only directly responsible for writing press pieces and managing social media, but she’s sociable enough at work that she meets and talks to everyone, even the likes of him. Rickon tries not to watch her while she eats, even though all their conversations so far have been during lunches. They’ve already learned how to be comfortable in each other’s silence, and Rickon catches a small smile on her face as she chews. He watches her jaw work through the bite: her hand moving up to cover her mouth politely as she sits up a bit straighter and taps her nails on the table. Rickon recognizes the gesture, and he knows she has something to say but won’t do so through her full mouth.

After a few moments, she swallows and says, “So are you going back for game night?”

“I don’t want to be a part of that chaos,” Rickon says. He wipes his mouth off with his napkin. He tosses it onto the table and leans back in his chair. “Plus, I’ve already told them I’m busy. Now, I can just bail out and chill the rest of the night.”

Shireen nods slowly at him, finishing up her food while he pays. She tries to pay her part, but Rickon doesn’t even give her the chance. With her eyes slightly narrowed at him, she loudly slurps up the rest of her milkshake, making Rickon laugh. He nudges the remainder of his root beer float across the tabletop at her, and she takes it with a grin, rocking side to side as she finishes it for him. She wipes off the edges of her mouth with a small, delicate gesture. Then, she places the napkin on the table. Rickon slides off his chair and Shireen follows suit, leaving the restaurant behind him until he holds the door open for her.

Entering the bright light outside, Rickon squints into the sun before heading in the direction of his car. “So I should probably take you back now, huh?”

Shireen looks up, thinking it over. “I think there’s still time,” she says slowly. Walking past him, she takes a hold of his hand and pulls him after her. Rickon just locks the car behind them, happy to be snared in her grasp and feel the coolness of her skin on his during this hot day.

As they walk in silence, Rickon thinks over her. Shireen always stuck him as a perfect, prim girl, mannered and polite at every opportunity. She definitely still holds true to that, but now he thinks that his feelings for her might not be entirely unfounded. 

They eventually make their way to a park some hours later, when Rickon’s no longer aware of the time and Shireen just doesn’t care. He runs over to the swings immediately, offering to push her. He even sets down his sweater on the seat so she doesn’t ruin her dress. Shireen sits down, completely still. She grasps the chains slowly, looking at Rickon as if daring him to go through with it. 

Rickon smirks at her. Then, he takes hold of the seat and walks forward with her, giving her a good push and earning himself a fairly contained squeak from Shireen. He laughs, walking around the swings to give her another push. He thinks of playground crushes and happy first dates before remembering that he’s an adult now and how this was definitely not a date because people like Shireen did not date people like him. Still, he pushes her up high enough that he can run entirely under her at her maximum height. Only when she starts worrying about him does he stop, taking the seat next to her and swinging his legs until he matches her height. Shireen isn’t working at maintaining her height, and her feet just dangle beneath her, flying to and fro with the pendulum movement of her swing. One of her hands is pressed to her skirt, keeping her dress from flying up, and she turns to give him a smile, her hair a whip in her face every time she changes directions.

The swings slow on their own, eventually coming to rest in neutral, but they don’t leave. They stay out in the park until the sky turns pink and purple, twisting the swings with their feet and keeping up a nice conversation, small breaks and pauses punctuating it perfectly, giving them time to collect their thoughts and look at their surroundings, even though Rickon spends most of his time just looking at her.

Just before the darkness settles, Rickon looks up to the sky and hops off his swing. He holds out a hand to Shireen. She takes it slowly, her palm pressed against his as she stands. As she turns to grab his sweater, Shireen twists her hand around until their fingers are laced together. Holding out his sweater, Shireen says, “I think I missed the dinner.”

“Probably,” he responds, reaching out for his sweater awkwardly as he tries to hold both her hands. “If you want, I can race you back so you can get some dessert.”

Shireen steps into him, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “Or…” she starts slowly. “We can get dessert somewhere else.”

Rickon is positively caught in her gaze, his heart trying to beat out of his chest as he wonders if she’s implying what he thinks she’s implying. But then her body is a press against his, her chest lifting to let their hearts beat against each other, and Rickon slowly inclines his head: ready to take a kiss from her. She’s already leaning into him and their lips are almost touching when he breathes out, “Can I have a kiss?”

He feels Shireen smile, close as she is to him, and her nose nudges his. He opens his eyes and looks directly into hers: bright and shining brilliant blue. Rickon thinks he will die from the anticipation, but then she says in an equally breathy voice, “Yes.”

When their lips meet, Rickon is positive that his heart has stopped working because she’s so warm and close, and her lips are so soft that he doesn’t even think about deepening the kiss because this is just bliss. Rickon could be swept away for the rest of his life with kisses like this, and he’s content to keep her just like this. But then, her mouth moves against his and he pulls her in tight, fully aware that his sweater is now pinned awkwardly between them. When Shireen sighs into his mouth, his mind goes blank, because all that matters is that she is here, she is with him, she is kissing him. 

After what feels like hours—or possibly days—later, they finally break apart, still holding each other close and staring into the other’s eyes. Their chests are rising and falling between them, and Rickon slowly lifts a hand to brush against her cheek and push her hair out of her face.

“Hi,” he murmurs.

A smile crosses Shireen’s face. “Hey, you.”

Rickon leans down to kiss her again, and her arms wrap around his neck, her fingers digging into his hair that he knows is way too long, but she seems to like it when she grips it tightly and moans into his mouth.

After a time longer than either of them are willing to admit, they finally get back into his car and Rickon drives them to an ice cream parlor. They share a small portion of ice cream, and Rickon thinks that they must look like quite a sight with her neat dress sitting across from his sloppy outfit. She grins at him from behind her spoon, and his thoughts vanish. Rickon instead focuses on the atmosphere given by this small shop. The bright lights spilling out into the darkness outside; the metal tables and counters reflecting the sparkles from Shireen’s nail polish when she taps them in a steady rhythm. 

Soon, they finish up, finally heading back to drop her off ridiculously late for her family dinner. The headlights of Rickon’s car flood the drive in front her parents’ house, and Shireen turns to him, her goodbyes on her lips. However, Rickon kills the engine, exiting the car and leaving Shireen somewhat baffled in the other seat. She doesn’t move until he opens the door for her.

“What are you doing?” she asks softly.

He offers a hand to her and helps her from her seat. “Walking you to the door,” he says. “And asking if I can take you out on a real date.”

Shireen’s mouth drops open before she closes it quickly. “Was that not a date?” she asks, looping her arm through his.

“It could be,” Rickon admits. He starts up the steps, watching her pace to match her. “Either way, I’d like to do it again.”

Her weight leans against him as they continue up. “And what interest do you have in being my boyfriend?”

“About the amount of interest that you have in being my girlfriend,” Rickon says, trusting his gut and going by the feeling of serenity he gets from her.

“So are you going to kiss me goodnight?” she asks, turning into him and smiling up at him.

Rickon loves her smile, and he lifts a hand to bring their lips together when the front door opens. They spring apart, clearing their throats and taking a huge interest in the floor. Rickon glances up to see Shireen brushing her hair behind an ear.

“You’re late, missy.” Turning to the door, Rickon sees a man who looks quite a bit older than them. He briefly thinks that it’s her father before she crosses her arms at him.

“I was busy, Ren,” she says.

“Sure, you were,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Can I have a word with you?”

Shireen turns to Rickon, muttering a quick “I’ll be right back” before she pulls the man across the porch. Rickon tries not to watch them, but he hears his name carry across the way along with words like ‘reputation,’ ‘wild,’ and ‘improper.’ They seem consumed by the conversation, and Rickon considers leaving, but he thinks of Shireen and resolves to stand in the muted yellow porch light all night if only to wait for her return. He distracts himself by trying to find imperfections in the paint of the house, but there are none, and Rickon idles the best he can. When a loud “He’s not good enough for you” reaches his ears, Rickon suppresses a wince, knowing that he had thought exactly the same thing a few weeks ago. He has no doubt that this man meant for Rickon to hear the outburst, and he turns, not wanting to see Shireen agree with the sentiment.

Thirty seconds later, the man walks past him, muttering, “Your dad’s going to be so disappointed” as he looks Rickon up and down. The door slams, and Rickon doesn’t try to look at Shireen until she tugs on his shirt.

“Do me a favor,” she says slowly.

“Leave?” Rickon asks, staring back down at the floor.

Shireen’s fingers brush against his jaw, forcing him to look at her. “Forget you heard any of that,” she says. “My stupid uncle… I swear…”

“He’s right,” Rickon murmurs.

Shaking her head, Shireen looks at him with more intensity. “Shut up and kiss me.”

With a sigh, Rickon leans in to peck her on the lips. Shireen has other ideas, though, and she fists her hands into his shirt, pulling him close despite keeping the kiss chaste. Rickon slowly places his hands on her waist, holding her against him. They part slowly, Shireen’s hands going up to brush his cheekbones.

“You still owe me a date, boyfriend,” she says firmly, a smirk on her lips.

Leaning down, Rickon quickly kisses her on the lips. “Whatever you say, _girlfriend_ ,” he replies, trailing his fingers down her arms and kissing her again before he heads down the stairs and drives off.

\--

Rickon and Shireen spend the next few weeks comfortably dating. Every lunch break, they are found sitting next to each other, secretly holding hands under the table as they eat, his right in her left; and Rickon is thankful that he is left-handed and can contribute to the façade. His family has growing suspicions, sneaking into the break room to spy on them, and earning plenty of giggles from Shireen when they leave. 

They leave notes for each other, hidden on the other’s desk, and throughout the day they text clues to each other about where they’ve hidden it. One day, Rickon finds a note from Shireen that just reads “black tie event.” He pockets the note, waiting until lunch to question her about it. The rest of the morning, his thoughts are muddled, thinking over what thing Shireen wants to go to could possibly be a black tie event. Over the weeks, she’d sent him several date ideas, and he had a growing list of things that included: going to the aquarium, a concert, amusement park, hiking, the observatory… He just can’t imagine any of those that would be a black tie event. Maybe she wants to go to a fancy concert? A philharmonic? He had been planning on taking her to see her favorite band…

Shireen, however, is absent from lunch today, probably busy with work. It makes Rickon a little uneasy, having only a cryptic note from her and no explanation. With quite a bundle of nerves in his chest, he heads back to work trying to finish early so he can find Shireen.

Rickon ends up at her apartment a few hours later, hands stuffed in his pockets until he knocks on the door, ignoring the doorbell as he always does. Whistling, Rickon leans against the wall opposite her door until it cracks open. Pushing himself off the wall, Rickon stands before the opening door.

“Hey,” he starts weakly, seeing an unfamiliar man in the doorway. “You’re not Shireen…”

“Rickon!” He hears Shireen’s voice from deeper inside. Then, he can hear her hurrying about, rushing to the door. She squirms out around the man, stepping into the hall and closing the door behind her. “I’m so sorry,” she starts quickly. “I forgot to tell you… My parents just came over without notice and I had to leave early.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Rickon leans forward and presses a kiss to her cheek. He takes her hand, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb. “Life happens. I just wanted to ask about your note.”

“My… oh!” Shireen’s eyes go wide, flicking to the door of her apartment. “Um… I’ll call you about it after?”

Rickon nods, somewhat resisting the urge to laugh. Rarely has he seen Shireen so flustered, and she’s quite cute when she’s looking around. Still she looks a little panicked, so Rickon pulls her closer. “Are you okay?” he asks. “Want me to go… meet them?”

“No, it’s okay,” she says quickly, swaying on her heels. “But I should go.”

Rickon’s about to agree when the door opens behind her. She turns, tightening her grip on his hand. The same man from before – her father – exits with a woman behind him. They stop, seeing him, and Rickon can feel both of their gazes trailing over him—assessing him.

Other than a small flick of her father’s eyes down to their joined hands, he ignores Rickon entirely. Shireen’s father turns to her instead. “I expect you’ll heed our advice,” he says loudly. Then, he turns away and leaves around the corner with his wife trailing behind him.

A beat passes where Rickon just looks after them. He turns back to Shireen when she squeezes his hand again. The tension in her grip is surprising, but she just pulls him into the apartment. Rickon goes willingly, letting the familiar lavender scent of her apartment fill him. He looks around the room, seeing how neat and organized everything always was. 

Shireen turns into his chest, wrapping her arms tight around his middle. He can feel her holding her hands together behind his back, and he looks down at her, returning the hug. She sighs against him, turning to press her cheek against him. They stand together for a moment until Shireen mumbles, “My dad doesn’t like you.”

Running his fingers through her hair, Rickon replies, “He doesn’t have to. I’m not dating him; I’m dating you.”

“You’re right,” she says, pulling away enough to look up at him. Shireen has that warm smile on her face, and Rickon can feel his heart pounding. Slowly, she reaches a hand up, dragging a hand through his hair until the tiny ponytail it’s in falls apart. Rickon’s hair falls in a mess around his face. He runs his thumbs over her ribs, and he leans into her, letting his hair get in her face. Shireen pushes it away and kisses him briefly. “I like you just fine.”

“Good, because you’re my girlfriend,” he says, glad that she agreed with him and still liked him. Despite being together for a few weeks, he still has some doubts about their relationship. Shireen melts them away with every smile and kiss, and Rickon almost forgets that they’re so different. Shireen is pulling him to the couch when he asks, “So what was your dad’s advice?”

Shireen rolls her eyes, tucking her feet underneath her as she sits down. “My dad thinks I should break up with you,” she says, sticking out her tongue. Rickon swallows hard, but she goes on. “He thinks I need a proper date for our dinner party…”

“The black tie event?” Rickon mutters, trying to think about how awful that sounds. His family dinners are usually crazy, loud, talking-over-each-other, be-thankful-if-food-doesn’t-get-in-your-hair events, and Shireen’s family seems the exact opposite.

Nodding, Shireen leans over to place a hand right over a tear in his jeans. Then, she glances down to his shoes before giving him a bright smile. “But you can show up like this,” she says firmly. “Torn jeans, decade-old Chuck Taylors, and I will still love you.”

“You love me?” Rickon asks, a grin creeping onto his face. His heart has suddenly gone into overdrive just hearing the word escape her lips.

Shireen makes a face, reaching over to hit his shoulder gently. “Of course I do,” she says, creasing her brows.

Rickon grabs her by the hips, pulling her onto his lap. She lets out a delighted squeak when he digs his nose into her neck. Then, he pulls away, pecking a kiss to the tip of her nose and seeing a slight flush to her cheeks. Running his thumbs over her cheekbones, Rickon tips his head toward hers. “I love you, too.”

Shireen wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him close for a long, lingering, deep kiss. Rickon holds her close, his hands wandering over her and keeping her under his touches. Her sighs and giggles fill the room, making his heart swell and creating a feeling of pleasure in the pit of his stomach. Rickon can feel her hands pushing his hair out of his face, and he presses into her fully, pinning her against his chest.

\--

Robb is beyond surprised when Rickon shows up on his doorstep, and a look of confusion is clear on his face. “Hey, Rickon,” he greets slowly. “What’s up?”

Rickon is still breathing hard. His head is spinning from the revelation of Shireen’s love and how easy it was to say the same thing back to her. He picks at his sleeve, trying to look up at his older brother. “Um.” He swallows with great difficulty. After a long moment where Rickon tries to organize his thoughts, he finally says, “I need your help.”

It isn’t much longer until all of his siblings are over. Arya’s looking up something on the internet while Sansa scribbles down notes. Bran’s over in the corner, flipping through one of Robb’s books. It isn’t until Robb approaches him with a pair of scissors that Rickon physically recoils.

“No,” he says firmly. He levels a glare at Robb, trying to show him how opposed he is to this idea.

“Dude, you said you needed help,” Robb says, trying to reason it out to him. He shrugs casually, as if it’ll help change Rickon’s mind.

Rickon narrows his eyes further. “You are not cutting my hair.”

Across the room, Sansa scoffs before walking over. She plucks the scissors from Robb’s hands and crosses her arms. “Definitely not by _your_ hands, mister,” she says sharply. Rickon can practically see the influences of their mother currently working through Sansa. “You should go to a proper hairdresser.”

Rickon thinks that maybe he should have just gone to his parents for help. “No,” Rickon repeats, moving further from his siblings.

“I thought you were trying to impress someone,” Bran says lightly, not looking up from whatever he’s reading. “I bet it’s that girl from Writing.”

“Oh, Scars?” Robb says, tapping his chin in thought. “She doesn’t really seem your type.”

Rickon aims a kick at Robb’s leg, making him fall over. He hates it when people stare unnecessarily at Shireen’s face, especially when she always looks so nice and lovely. Clenching his fists, he glares down at his brother. “Fuck off, asshole,” he says sharply.

“Alright, that’s enough of that,” Arya says, dragging Robb back when he rises to retaliate. She shoos him off, even though he protests that they’re in his house. Then, she turns to Rickon, her hands on her hips. “You’re not going to get anything done here. Let’s go.”

“Go where?” Rickon asks, slumping down into a chair. He feels extremely exhausted from putting up with this. Before he can convince his self to quit, he remembers Shireen and how her face lights up when she smiles at him.

“I took notes, stupid.” Arya proudly holds up the pad of paper that has several lists on it. Rickon can’t read it from this far away, but both his sisters definitely seem to be in agreement about the matter. Letting out a heavy sigh, Rickon allows them to lead him around town for the rest of the day.

\--

The next day, Rickon finds himself standing awkwardly outside of Shireen’s apartment. He hasn’t knocked yet, but he is positive that he’s already ruined his sisters’ hard work by running his hands through his hair multiple times. It feels _weird_ to be so short, even though Sansa still thinks it’s too long. He can’t get used to the weight on his neck, and despite Arya’s insistence that he looks fine, he can’t see how. Before knocking on the door, he makes a quick circle in the hall, trying to push up his sleeves before remembering that he can’t do that in this suit. Rickon pulls at his tie before fixing it again and wracks his brain to remember if he’s supposed to have the jacket buttoned or not. 

After five long minutes of idling in the hall, Rickon finally knocks. He considers hitting his head against the door for good measure when it opens. Biting the inside of his cheek, he looks for some sort of reaction from Shireen. It’s only been a day since she last saw him, and he looks drastically different now. Automatically, her jaw drops, but she doesn’t bother picking it up. Slowly, her eyes rake over his body, and Rickon can’t tell if she still likes him.

“Hey,” he says weakly. He lets out a small sigh, looking over her. Shireen is in a blue dress that matches her eyes, and she looks _regal_ in it. The tops of her shoulders are bare, but there’s also some sort of cape attached to her dress. Rickon can’t stop staring at the pull of fabric around her waist, and he thinks fleetingly of putting his hands there and feeling out the back of her dress, hidden by the drape of fabric at her back. He barely has time to meet her gaze before she grabs him by the shoulders and kisses him roughly.

Rickon stumbles slightly, following her into the apartment. Shireen finds purchase in his hair, holding him close and refusing to break the kiss. He lets his hands wander where his eyes were, feeling the smooth fabric under his fingers and holding her against him. Her bare shoulders are tantalizing, though, so he breaks the kiss to run his tongue over them, feeling out the natural landscape of her body.

They continue kissing until Shireen lets out a particularly loud moan. Then, Rickon pulls away slightly. “I may have gotten carried away,” he says through deep breaths. Nosing at her neck one last time, he slowly distances his self from her. “And I think I messed up your hair…”

Shireen laughs, dragging her fingers through her hair to fix it slightly. “It probably looks better that way,” she says with a grin. However, she makes her way to the bathroom for a minute to fix up again. When she returns, she grabs a small bag from the table. “Though, if you’re going to just walk in here looking like that, I can deal with my hair getting ruined.”

“Looking like what, exactly?” Rickon asks, leading her into the hall and out to his car. He takes her hand before feeling like he should be escorting her more properly.

Shireen doesn’t notice. She just grabs onto him and leans her head onto his shoulder. Rickon can feel his heart pounding in his chest, just knowing that she’s here with him. It isn’t until they get to the door of his car and he’s holding it open for her that Shireen leans on the top of it and says, “You know… like… really hot.”

Shaking his head at her, Rickon laughs, watching a blush creep onto her face. She bites her lip before hiding in the car, and Rickon thinks it’s a lucky thing because he wants to kiss her again. Shutting the door carefully, he goes around the car and drives them over to her family’s house. The entire way there, Shireen holds his hand, running her fingers up and down the sleeves of his suit and complimenting him on doing such a good job of dressing up. Rickon tries to shrug it off as no big deal, but he’s secretly glad that he was able to please her. And that getting a haircut had actually been worth it.

It isn’t until they’re walking up to the front door that Rickon feels the bundle of nerves hit his stomach again. He walks steadily next to Shireen, holding her arm properly this time, but he tries to think through how he’s supposed to greet people and sit at the dinner table and which fork he’s supposed to use for what dish. His mind goes completely blank when a woman with golden curls extends a hand to him. He hasn’t introduced himself, but he reflexively takes her hand and thinks of period romances when he presses a light kiss to her knuckles, muttering out a hello.

When he looks up, the woman looks completely shocked, staring at him. Shireen clears her throat loudly, gently moving him into the house. They leave the woman in the doorway, hearing her murmur, “So she took her father’s advice” before they were out of earshot. He glances around the house, looking at the pristine tiles and obviously set decorations. This does not appear to be a house where people actually live, but Shireen seems to know the layout well enough. She takes them into a small hallway before turning to him abruptly. It would seem that she’s trying to look stern, but she’s fighting a growing smile. “What was that?” she asks.

“I forgot what I was supposed to do,” Rickon admits, bowing his head slightly. Suddenly, he feels like a fraud for even attempting to fit in here.

Shireen laughs then, shaking her head at him. “Just shake their hand and say hi,” she says.

“But she did the…” Rickon cuts himself off, making gestures to try and indicate that she obviously was not offering a handshake. When Shireen raises an eyebrow at him, he gives up. “But what if I forget how to eat dinner?”

Her eyes look around the ceiling before meeting his. “You still know how to chew and swallow, right?” she asks. He nods slowly and she’s laughing again. “You’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.”

With even more shakes of her head, she takes him past a hallway (where he can still see the blonde looking dumbstruck by the door) and into a massive room with people milling about. Names fly through his mind, but Rickon’s only slightly focused on remembering them and more focused on how he needed to hold himself. They’re about halfway through the crowd when Rickon spots her uncle talking loudly to her dad.

“Okay, that was all my doing,” her uncle says, gesticulating in their direction with his drink. He appears to be pretending to be drunk, and Shireen’s father look irked about it.

Her father takes the drink from him and sets it down on the table when Shireen approaches them. Rickon stays at her side, watching her uncle and father give her a smile. “Dad… Ren… this is my boyfriend,” she starts slowly. Her father is already nodding his approval when she tacks on, “Rickon, this is my uncle Renly and my dad: Stannis.”

The smile slips off of Stannis’s face immediately and his back stiffens. Renly’s gawking at Shireen. Rickon holds out a hand to her father, wondering whether he’ll accept the handshake. Stannis carefully takes it, and Rickon does everything he can to channel his father as he gives Stannis what he hopes is a firm, strong handshake. Then, Renly erupts into laughter. Shireen has a small scowl on her face, and Rickon knows that she’s already trying to save him from whatever happens next.

Luckily, everyone is distracted when Robert Baratheon flies into the room, stumbling over his own feet and knocking over a table that had two vases on it. The ceramic chatters over the floor, and small, glazed, sherds are scattered across the floor, creating quite an obstacle to get through to the dining room. The blonde woman from the door hurries in, shaking her head in the direction of Robert Baratheon. She rolls her eyes slightly and calls out, “Mom!”

Rickon looks around at the chaos. No one has bothered to try and clean up the mess, but all the women are complaining about the difficulties of walking over the broken vases. Everyone is loudly whispering about how drunk Robert must be, and Rickon finds himself agreeing with them. Another woman strolls into the room, holding herself in an extremely dignified manner. She’s in a floor-length red gown that she very obviously does not want to ruin in the mess. Glancing down occasionally, she manages to avoid the broken vases entirely.

“Dinner is ready to be served,” she announces. Then, she holds up a hand and gestures to the next room. “If you’ll all just make your way over…”

The shuffling begins immediately. A few men stop to help Robert get on his feet and cleaned up again. However, most have taken the hand of a woman, helping them slowly tread across the room. It is a slow process, watching them go, and Rickon spots Shireen trying to manage on her own. He walks over to her, extending a hand. “May I?” he asks.

Shireen gives him a suspicious look before smirking at him. Then, she nods. Even though Rickon can feel her father glaring at him, Rickon wraps an arm around her waist and lifts her gently, carrying her over to the next room. Several people look on, and Rickon feels like he should stop. But her arms are around his neck, and he’s not willing to stop that. They get into the next room, and Rickon sets her down, offering his elbow and leading her around the table to find their seats.

The table itself is massive, and its only purpose seems to be as a display of Baratheon wealth. Rickon isn’t entirely sure why there’s only one table when there’s no way they’ll be able to talk to everyone, but he follows Shireen around and takes his seat when she does. He looks around completely, trying to find someone who looks like they know what they’re doing and following their lead. He looks down at his place setting, and it all seems very ridiculous: he has two glasses, three forks, three spoons, and two knives, along with a napkin and a plate. 

Hesitantly, he takes the napkin, copying a man from across the table and placing it on his lap. The man he copied looks extremely well-suited to be here, and he’s talking softly to the woman at his side. Glancing over, Rickon sees the blonde from the front door.

“Rickon,” the blonde says. Rickon wishes that he remembered her name. She takes a hand of the man next to her and smiles at him. “This is my fiancé, Trystane Martell.”

“Fiancé?” Shireen questions. She leans slightly over the table, looking to the man carefully. “How long has that been news, Cella?”

“It isn’t,” the blonde say slightly, winking at Shireen. However, Rickon watches as she fiddles with her fingers more than necessary to draw their attention to the ring on her left hand.

Rickon gives her a smile and says, “Congratulations.” The blonde woman seems satisfied with this, turning to her fiancé and speaking in hushed tones for a while. Rickon takes the time to lean into Shireen. “What’s her name again?”

“Myrcella,” Shireen says softly. “And she’s quite talkative.”

Nodding, Rickon sits back in his seat just as a server places a salad in front of him. At least, Rickon thinks it’s a salad. It is primarily composed of lettuce with a few other vegetables on top of it and a dressing of sorts, but—instead of being mixed up—there are only five leaves stacked on top of each other, making it look like a flower. By the time he looks up, everyone is already eating their strange salad, and Rickon can’t see how anyone managed to make it look like an actual salad. Slowly, he reaches for a fork, looking to see which fork is missing from other people’s place settings. Then, he stabs into the pile of lettuce. 

Rickon is sorely tempted to just eat the salad piece by piece. He’d finish easily in five bites. As he starts to lift the fork, Shireen clears her throat. Shireen nudges at her knife, putting a small bit of salad in her mouth. Frowning, Rickon takes the knife, feeling foolish as he slices the lettuce up and turns it into a proper salad because _Who the fuck requires you use a knife to eat a salad?_

Shireen is shaking with invisible laughter next to him. Or maybe it’s real laughter because she’s looking away from him and nodding at someone a few seats down. During her next bout of laughter, which is now audible, she reaches over and places a hand on his leg. A smile crosses his face, as she sits back defiantly and says, “Well, I know _I_ can write about it now.” There’s a small back and forth, but Shireen waves off the matter. Still laughing, she turns to Rickon. “Do you want some bread?”

“Sure,” Rickon says, waiting for her to pass the bread over. In attempt to stop himself from looking bad here, he takes the bread in his hands and eats it plain, never setting it down.

A moment later, Shireen turns to him with a small knife in hand. She also has a piece of bread in hand, though she has opted for the butter. There’s a small crumb stuck to her mouth, and she chews a bit before giving him a strange look. Holding up a hand to cover her mouth, she mumbles, “Don’t you want some butter?”

“No, thanks,” Rickon says. He slowly lifts a hand and brushes his thumb over her bottom lip, removing the offending crumb. Shireen freezes, letting him finish before she realizes what he’s doing.

“I have a napkin, you know,” she points out.

Laughing, Rickon leans into her, making sure that his mouth is right next to her ear. “But I just wanted a reason to touch you,” he whispers. Shireen’s face goes red, and she blindly reaches for her water glass before someone captures her attention again, drawing her into another conversation.

The rest of the meal passes rather uneventfully. Rickon simply moves a second behind everyone else, making sure that he uses the proper etiquette for the meal. He becomes extremely thankful that his natural reactions to grabbing a fork and knife are the correct ones, and Myrcella comments on how lucky he is to be left-handed because she hates it. He’s far enough from Shireen’s father to be completely unbothered by his stares, but he senses Shireen tensing at them anyway.

Dinner takes much longer than Rickon would have ever expected. This is mostly because everyone has to finish each course before the next is served. Rickon sits patiently though. He only joins into conversations once he remembers that it is more polite. However, he speaks mostly to the people immediately surrounding him instead of raising his voice across the table like Shireen does. She’s incredibly comfortable in this environment, reaching through her silverware effortlessly for the correct utensil and knowing when to engage in conversation. It makes Rickon feel like a clumsy child, intruding on the adults during a Thanksgiving meal.

He breathes out a sigh of relief when the meal finishes and they can finally stand again. Shireen takes his arm again, leading him over to Robert Baratheon and his wife, who are greeting guests as they leave the room.

“The meal was lovely, Aunt Cersei,” Shireen says, bowing slightly.

“Why, thank you, dear,” the tall blonde woman responds. Something about her seems far less than friendly to Rickon, and he is sure that she isn’t being genuine. Still, he holds out a hand to him weakly. “And this is…?”

“Rickon Stark,” he says. He copies his first greeting of the evening, bowing down and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Cersei appears shocked when he stands back to his full height.

Robert, however, is laughing. It is a loud, boisterous sound that escapes the man, and Rickon is positive that he is drunk. “Ned’s kid, eh?” he asks. “Maybe I’ll have to go see him again.”

Shireen cuts the conversation short with trite “thank you”s and “goodbye”s before leading Rickon out into a garden. “I suppose the only person you should ever use that move on is my aunt,” she says firmly. “I’ve never seen her at a loss for words before.”

“She doesn’t really seem the type,” Rickon agrees. Shireen is leading him through a garden that is in full bloom. Fairy lights hang overhead, making the colors glow in the growing darkness. The floor is slightly damp, and Rickon can feel the cold seeping in. He sees Shireen beginning to shiver and says, “Why are we out here?”

“It’s polite to stay about fifteen minutes before leaving,” she says, shrugging. She presses further into his side. 

Rickon shrugs her off gently, removing his jacket and placing it around her shoulders. Then, he wraps an arm around her waist and they continue on.

Shireen clears her throat gently to catch his attention again. “You really didn’t have to dress up,” she mumbles. “Although, I think my father was impressed.”

“Well, I’m not trying to impress him, am I?” he asks back, turning into her. 

“I’m sure all your blunders may have undone that,” she giggles back. “Or did you really need to seem so obvious about not knowing which fork to use?”

Rickon rolls his eyes at her. “Your cousin saw fit to point out the one mistake quietly loudly,” he countered. “Of course, I tried to fix myself after that.”

Shireen is still laughing when she says, “Oh, the torture it must have been! Next time, it can be a date of your choosing.”

“So an actual date then?” Rickon replies, earning himself a smack in the chest from her. “Or are families invited to all of our dates?”

“You stop that,” she says gently, poking him in the chest, but he still plays the part, grumbling out an incoherent response. Shireen holds him firmly before stepping into him and pecking him on the lips. “Now, is that better?”

“Almost,” he mumbles. A quick glance up tells him that they are far from prying eyes, but he still sits on a ledge before pulling her into another kiss. Maybe dinner parties aren’t so bad, especially if they all can end like this. After a moment, he pulls back and asks, “So should we still go get ice cream?”

“You’d break that tradition?” Shireen asks back, pulling him to his feet and leading him back toward the house.

Rickon shrugs. “We’ve already had dessert.”

“Technically,” Shireen muses. “But it was so tiny, I don’t think it counts.”

A short drive later, they’re back in the familiar ice cream parlor, dressed up as they are. He orders what has become their usual now, grabbing two spoons and joining her at a small table. Shireen eagerly takes a spoon from him, digging into the cold treat. She hums and smiles with the first bite, her eyes closed in happiness. Before spooning another, she licks the spoon and her lips clean. Rickon blindly takes some ice cream, relying on habit to get it into his mouth because he has been staring at her lips ever since she licked them clean. She’s intent on eating, though, so it takes her a while before she catches him staring.

“What are you looking at?” she asks, taking another bite.

Her spoon drags across her lips, and Rickon wishes that it was his tongue instead. “You,” he replies. He can feel his face burning with the honesty of his response, so he looks away, hiding behind another spoonful of ice cream.

“Me, huh?” Shireen questions, leaning into him.

He mumbles out a few nonsense syllables, taking a particularly large spoonful and focusing entirely on consuming it.

“Rickon,” Shireen says impatiently.

He knows that if he dares to look at her again, he will never be able to stop the blush from spreading across his face. He cleans off the spoon meticulously, ignoring Shireen’s calls and refusing to look at her. She snags his attention back with a firm grip to his wrist on his attempt to get more ice cream. Finally, he lets his gaze drift up, finding her looking intently at him. Sure enough, the blush is back, and he instinctively goes to hide.

Shireen pulls at his wrist again, tugging him toward her. “Come kiss me,” she tells him.

A part of Rickon almost wants to refuse her because he can’t stand being teased, but he’d hate himself even more if he didn’t give her what she wanted. Leaning across the table, Rickon takes her by the jaw, pressing their lips together lightly. He nearly releases her, but she moves into him, pressing her tongue into his mouth and he can taste the sweetness of her mixed with the flavors of their dessert.

\--

Rickon is bouncing about, attempting to properly prepare dinner for Shireen tonight. Judging by his tardiness, he was definitely not going to finish making this batch of enchiladas before Shireen got here. Still, he was determined to finish up. He moves back and forth between frying tortillas and rolling enchiladas, and he only manages to finish making three when the doorbell rings. After making sure that nothing is going to burn, he goes to open the door. Shireen walks in calmly, accepting a kiss from him, and it takes him no time at all to realize that this is the first time he has ever seen her in pants. They’re tight over her legs, and she has a baggy top on as well. He wants to kiss her again, but he knows that he needs to finish dinner first.

“I just need to finish up,” he says quickly. Then, he grins at her. “I’m making enchiladas.”

Shireen laughs, following him into the kitchen. “Did you intentionally pick the messiest meal you could think of?”

“I just really like them,” Rickon admits. He grabs at the lightly fried tortilla with a pair of tongs, dunking it into the sauce. Then, he places it onto a plate and stuffs it before rolling it up. He quickly pulls away his fingers, sucking on them. “I also, maybe, keep burning myself.”

The laughter from Shireen intensifies, and she nudges him over to one side of the stove. “I can roll them,” she says. “And you can stop getting your germs on my food.”

“I thought you liked my germs,” he retorts, moving in and giving her a deep kiss.

Shireen doesn’t respond to this. She just cares for the second half of the enchilada-making while Rickon fries up the tortillas. Oftentimes, they share kisses between their job, swaying about in the kitchen and keeping a steady stream of conversation going.

“Last one,” Rickon announces, placing the tortilla in question into the sauce. 

Shireen grins at him, taking the tortilla away for rolling. When she finishes, she shakes her sleeves away from her hands, wiggling her messy fingers through the air. Rickon leans into her, moving her against a clean counter and kissing her again. He picks her up and settles her on top of it, moving closer into her. Shireen lets out a light sound against his mouth, and he skims his nails over her legs. That seems to spark something into being inside her, and she digs her fingers into his hair.

Even though Rickon can feel how dirty his hair is becoming, he can’t escape the feeling that this is how he likes her best: out of the view of others, laughing solely for him, letting herself get lost in the moment, and free to kiss him as she pleases. He’ll gladly take a portion of enchilada sauce in his hair for that.

She’s breathing heavily when they part, her smile’s weak until she seems to realize what just happened. “Whoops.”

Rickon laughs, then, feeling her hands move quickly away from him. She’s apologetic about her mistake, claiming she got carried away when Rickon shushes her with another kiss. “I like when you get carried away,” he tells her. Then, he steps away to serve them dinner.

They eat in the comfort that meals have come to provide for them. Shireen is open with him, telling him about her day and sharing her opinion on things. Rickon reciprocates the talk, getting up occasionally to fetch them more drinks or to offer her seconds, which she accepts. When they’ve finished up their meals and are just sitting across from each other, Rickon leans in and asks, “Would you mind terribly if I clean up real fast? I’m afraid I got something in my hair.”

Shireen flushes a bright red before agreeing and waving him off toward the bathroom. He goes, stripping quickly and focusing on cleaning his hair more than anything. He still has the thoughts of her racing through his mind when he leaves the shower, tying his towel over his hips before leaving the room. “Hey, Shir?” he calls.

“Yeah?” she calls back. He can hear her bare feet tapping the floor as she makes her way over. She peeks into the hall and sees him there. Her mouth opens just slightly.

“I just need to put some clothes on,” he says, grinning at her before walking into his bedroom. He hears her following him, but he pretends he doesn’t, going into his drawers for his pajamas, late as it is. He’s about to pull on his clothes when he feels Shireen’s fingers lightly tracing over his shoulder, and he knows what has her attention now.

“It’s a Celtic knot,” she murmurs. Now, he can feel the pattern of his tattoo under her index finger. Her touch is gentle over his shoulder, following the lines of the knot over and over again. They stand there in near silence until she says, “I like it.”

He turns to face her fully only a little aware of the fact that he is still naked beneath his towel, and before he knows it, they are laying across his bed and he is telling her the stories behind all of his tattoos as she traces the lines of them several times. He thinks that his body knows her touch better than anything by they get to the last of them. Shireen had already memorized the feel of the Celtic knot, the cogs and gears, and his direwolf when they get to the text over his ribs. She is half-lying over his stomach, and her fingers trace over each letter several times before she finally glances up at him.

“I don’t know this language,” she says. Her fingers never cease their movement.

Rickon forces himself to wrack his brain for the memory of what it says. He knows that he could look down and read it, but he’ll be distracted by actually seeing her hands so comfortably moving over his ribs. He clears his throat loudly and puts on a slight Scottish accent to say, “ _Chan ann leis a’chiad bhuille thuiteas a’chraobh_.”

Shireen furrows her eyebrows at him. “What does it mean?”

“‘It is not with the first stroke that the tree falls,’” Rickon translates, remembering the reminder to himself that he could always keep pressing on.

A small hum comes from Shireen’s mouth, and she traces the letters again. Her hands are gentle and warm over his ribs, and she smooths over the flesh again. “Say it again,” she tells him, and he does. Then, she lays over him, her scarred cheek pressing over the tattoo. The coolness of her hair chills him slightly, but she finds his hand and holds it gently.

They stay like that for a long while, and Rickon thinks that she may have fallen asleep. However, she stretches up into a sit a while later, and he follows her up. Shireen rubs at her eyes and lets out a yawn. He chuckles at her, leaning over to kiss her. Then, he finally slips into his clothes for the night. When he turns back to the bed, Shireen is watching him, gnawing slightly on one of her fingers. Slowly, she raises both of her arms in the air, arching her back into a stretch.

“Can I spend the night?” she asks sheepishly.

Rickon grins back at her. Then, he digs through his drawer for his biggest shirt, which he tosses at her. “I don’t think you brought anything to wear,” he tells her.

Shireen slowly climbs off his bed. Her fingers lightly skim over his abs, and she winks at him. “I didn’t think I needed any.”

Without bothering to stop his reflexes, Rickon tugs her toward him, pulling her flush against his exposed chest. He leans down until he is almost kissing her and whispers, “Then, get into bed.”

Shireen quickly pecks him on the lips before she draws away giggling. Then, she continues on to the bathroom. “You’re not that lucky,” she says. Then, she tacks on a small “yet.”

Hours later, Rickon continues to lay awake in bed, thinking of her teasing and how she is tucked into his side now, a hand resting over the ribs that she has already repeatedly traced. He is content here, having her beside him, knowing that she is at peace. Rickon briefly wonders what the morning will bring before deciding that none of it matters if Shireen is with him.

**Author's Note:**

> By the way, if you've never made enchiladas by frying the tortillas first, you're missing out.  
> Also, I'll be taking a short break from updating daily, but I'll be back soon! If you want to see what I'm up to in the meantime, I'm currently posting [an original novel](https://www.wattpad.com/story/48258943-legion), and you can always come talk to me on [my tumblr](http://frozensnares.tumblr.com)!
> 
> I'll be back soon!


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